


Gladiator's Bastion

by GillyTweed



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Gladiators, Alternate Universe - Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:35:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8446030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillyTweed/pseuds/GillyTweed
Summary: The Warrior kneeled and waited, breathing slowing and focus sharpening. A ghostly touch at the back of her neck sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the other girl's presence, standing steadfast beside her, resting a palm at her nape. The message was clear.
I am here. I will protect you. We will win.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a while ago. It’s still unedited cause I’m way to tired to look over it. It’s an AU I thought of a bit ago. I’ve never seen a concept like this so I think some people might find it interesting.
> 
> For anyone wondering about when I'll update Born Amongst a Storm (y'all really like mermaids apparently) I hope to do so soon. I've had some health issues acting up recently which has made writing hard, but I have a break from school soon so hopefully I'll be able to post then.

Gladiator’s Bastion  
Pairing: Clexa  
Rating: Children be Wary (K+)

* * *

She could feel the muscles in her jaw jumping as adrenaline flooded her body. A low buzzing had started at the base of her skull, tingling, exciting, electrifying. The doors to the arena were opening, the harsh light flooding into the dim holding area.

An attendant adjusted the straps of her armour, pulling them tight in an efficient and impersonal manner. She didn't mind though, her thoughts much to occupied by the coming fight and the rush of energy soon to come. She trembled with excitement as the attendant clasped the collar around her neck, it's soft, stiff leather encasing her throat like an old friend.

A horn sounded, low and melodic, rising to end on a higher octave; the call for the fighters to enter the ring. The roar of the crowd was muted as she took in her opponent, a large man, far larger than her own stature of 5"5'. His pale skin and overly bulging muscles tell of intense, focused training. The kind done in a gym, meant for form rather than function, and in this her confidence grew.

They meet at the centre, clasping forearms as a show of respect. The crowd continues to roar until another horn blows, forcing a quiet as the Bastions entered. She turns to look above the door she'd entered from, her movements mirrored by the large man.

She watched with bated breath as her partner, her support, her Clarke, entered. The blonde girl was small, but she knew from experience she was far from weak. It was why she was a Bastion after all.

Her partner stood in front of her throne, standing tall, face serious. Her small frame was clad in a dark blue robe, it's soft fabric folding around her beautifully. For a moment, the blonde looked down, their eyes meeting, small subtle smiles breaking upon their faces.

The horn sounds a third time, forcing the Warrior to turn back around to face her opponent. Seconds later, she felt it, the rush, the energy that buzzed from the collar and into her skin. An electrifying feeling that nearly had her eyes rolling in ecstasy. The energy spoke of Clarke, her essence and will an overpowering force that ran under her skin like lightning.

Again, another intonation of the horn and she kneels, one fist touching the cold stone floor of the ring. Clarke's will continued to buzz and rattle and shake through her, although it eased slightly, becoming more subtle like the gentle touches they'd shared the night before.

The Warrior kneeled and waited, breathing slowing and focus sharpening. A ghostly touch at the back of her neck sent a shiver down her spine. She could feel the other girls presence, standing steadfast beside her, resting a palm at her nape. The message was clear.

I am here. I will protect you. We will win.

The last horn sounded. The fighters stood, drawing their weapons. Metal scraping upon metal as blades met open air. The tension was thick, nervousness crackling in the air, but the energy at her nape remained. The warrior breathes one last reassuring breath, readying her blades.

The energy grounded her. The energy protected her. They will win.

 

* * *

  
She waited patiently behind the curtain, the thin fabric separating her from the roar of a thousand voices waiting for the coming spectacle. Her face is kept carefully controlled, neutral and calm, while on the inside her muscles jumped with nerves. Her anxiety wasn’t for herself, no. It was for the beautiful girl waiting just feet below in the holding room, armour already equipped and weapons sharpened to deadly points.

  
The blonde had little doubt for their victory; they had yet to lose a battle during their years of participating in The Games, but even with the certainty of victory, injury was not impossible. Memories of blood and cries of pain forced her eyes closed as she battled the demons that lurked in the dark corners of her mind. She pushed the unpleasant recollections down as she forcefully dragged thoughts of the night before to the forefront. The soothing, passionate touches she and her warrior had shared. The pleasure they’d brought to each other. The memories were calming.

  
A horn sounded, blaring long and low, signalling the start of the match. Her Warrior would be moving now, entering the arena to meet her foe. They would clasp arms, a respectful display of solidarity between fellow combatants. It was touching in a way; the acknowledgement of the others skill just before one would beat the other into the ground.

  
For that was the only way this would end; one fighter on the ground, blood pouring to stain the flagstones, their Bastion drained and barely able to move. She’d seen it hundreds of times, and had helped cause it nearly as many.

  
The horn bugles again, the crowd quieting as she slips around the curtain, walking to her seat with confident steps. The seat is more a throne than a chair, high backed and ornamented with blue and white fabric. It’s appearance makes her feel ill, flashes of another Bastion/Warrior pair, a man and woman, a mother and father, dancing behind her eyes.

  
Turning her back to the painful memories, she looks over the crowd. People dressed in fine silks and tight coats waited with bated breath, eager for blood to be spilled. Pompous aristocrats, young and old, placed bets in hushed voices, eyes sharp and thirsting as money traded hands. She could see more than one man (along with a few women) eyeing her Warrior with hungry, lustful eyes. The sight ignited an intense burning within her stomach, anger searing her veins like poison.

  
She flicked her eyes down to the arena and was instantly calmed. Her Warrior, her Lexa, stared up at her with wide eyes, love and devotion crystal clear within their depths. The brunette stood at attention, back straight with arms at her sides. The collar that they’d designed together lay starkly on her skin, the dark leather accented sharply by swirling red and silver. The sight made her soften, a smile quirking at her lips. The collar was more than a tool to them, not some simple conduit that gave them an alley for combat. It was a symbol of their devotion to each other, the partnership that they’d built together and devoted their lives to. It was the physical representation of all they’d had to sacrifice to be together.

  
The horn sounded again and moment was over, Lexa turning back to face her fellow warrior. The blonde turned to her seat, lowering herself to rest against the comfortable cushions. On the left arm, a metal cuff, designed similarly to her warriors collar, lay nestled on a small pillow. Without hesitation she slipped it over her wrist, the cool temperature raising the fine hairs along her arms. Within seconds she could feel the connection with her warrior, their energies swirling together like to crashing storm fronts.

  
She molded her energy with care, distributing it along her warrior's body evenly. She watched as the brunette kneeled, body visibly shivering at the sensation of their connection. Inhaling deeply, she stabilized their bond, weaving their spirits together until she could barely feel any distinction between one or the other. The final horn rang through the arena, dull and faded in her ears as all her focus was channeled into being her warriors support.

  
It was time for the fight to begin.

 

* * *

  
Lexa smiled giddily as she drew her twin blades, the dark metal glinting in the harsh light. Clarke’s essence flowed through her, strengthening her muscles and pulling her reflexes tight until they fired on a hair trigger. It was their standard starting form, strength and speed so she could easily compete with any larger Warrior. Her skin felt tight as her Bastion continued to weave her support, binding Lexa in a protective shell that shimmered and crackled along her skin.

  
Her opponent roared, beating his shield with his axe in a display of pointless propaganda, drawing ravenous cheers from the crowd. The brunette’s focus didn’t waver, eye’s scanning the man's form as he postured. He was strong, the large muscles attested to it, but his movements were stiff, not graceful like those who knew how to use their strength. His top half was armour heavy, hardened leather encasing his chest and arms but leaving his legs almost bare, clad only in light cotton.

  
She and Clarke had discussed their opponents the night before, laying in post coital bliss, talking in quiet whispers. The opposing pair were new to their circle, upstarts from the lower castes, invited by the upper classes to see if they were worthy of being among the elite as equals or dust under their boots. It was Clarke and Lexa’s job to find out.

  
The pair were the youngest and least experienced of the elite fighters, but easily the most skilled. Lexa’s constant fight for survival as a child, and later as a soldier, brought her to peak physical condition where fighting was concerned, and Clarke’s rigorous training as a Bastion and Politicians daugher ingrained an iron will into her very being. They were born to be what they were, but their drive to be together is what kept them together.

  
Twirling one of her blades slowly, she stalked closer as the man finally readied himself. His form was steady, shield angled just right and axe held at the ready. He was trained well, but the lack of energy told her that his Bastion was not. She couldn’t feel it crackling in the air, clashing with Clarke’s as was the norm. It was either his Bastion felt no threat from Clarke’s support (a grave mistake), or they were physically incapable of defending against it, both possibilities spelling the defeat for the pair.

  
Smirking, she struck first, blade crashing hard against a solid shield. The axe swung around to be deflected by her other blade as her foot swung up to nail the man in the groin. It was a dirty blow, but hardly illegal. In The Games, everything was allowed, bar poison and outside interference.

  
Her kick drew a pained whine from her opponent, but he didn’t falter or sway as she jumped away. She commended his tolerance for pain as he rushed towards her, a snarl mixed with a grimace on his face. She rolled away, dodging a swipe of his axe. Windmilling her legs, she whirled to her feet, crouched low as she lashed out at the backs of his thighs. Her blade bit flesh, drawing first blood as the crowd erupted in a gleeful roar.

  
He stumbled but righted himself, ignoring the slick blood that now soaked his legs. He spun, axe swinging to strike her chest as she straightened. She hopped back lightly, the blade grazing her chest guard, but couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid the shield tackle that sent her flying.

  
She rolled across the stones, chest aching and blood pouring from split skin on her forehead. Clarke’s energy danced and burst, soothing the ache and sealing the cut temporarily until medical care was available. Blinking away blood, she rolled as the man’s axe came down to impact where she lay, metal blade sending sparks scattering along the ground. Rolling into a crouch, she spat blood onto the area floor, swiping a pink tongue over a split lip. Her opponent continued his assault, forcing her back, keeping her on the ground with little chance of recovery, but he was slowing. Blood continued to pour from her first attack, his Bastion proving too incompetent to stop or even ease the flow. It wouldn’t be long until he collapsed from blood lose.

  
Eventually, he fell to one knee, giving her enough time to stand. He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face. It was obvious that he wasn’t used to such drawn out battles, always overpowering his enemies before tiredness set it. Unfortunately for him, endurance was the two women’s specialty. Wearing down their opponents until they could do nothing but take strike after strike from her quick blades.

  
Glancing up at Clarke, she received a nod. Their enemies were spent, both Warrior and Bastion. It was time to end this.

  
Stepping over to her opponent, she looked like she was taking a leisurely stroll, one sword trailing along the ground to leave a trail of sparks. The other swung up to rest at his throat, cutting enough for blood to well around the metal. She could feel her own exhaustion settling in, limbs trembling from strain, but she kept up the facade of power and strength as the crowd howled and bayed for slaughter. She waited for the signal, to kill or spare the man bowed under her blade. It was the Bastions decision to either surrender or keep fighting.

  
The horn blew and she sighed in relief as she dropped her blade. At least the man’s Bastion wasn’t so incompetent that they didn’t see their clear defeat. Sheathing her blades, she stepped back, sharing a relieved smile with her fellow Warrior. Neither had gone into the fight hoping to kill the other.

  
The crowd continued to cheer as she stepped into the hold, Clarke’s energy draining away as the collar was removed. The absence made her feel empty and lost, like a part of herself had been stripped violently away. The loss of support left her trembling, muscles weak and blood flowing anew from her injuries. The attendant led her to a bench, their presence easing her anxiety but not replacing who she really needed. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes and trembled, waiting for her Bastion to arrive as she undoubtedly would.

 

* * *

  
Clarke watched the other Bastion as her Warrior dominated his, sword resting against flesh. Her opponent, a slight man, dressed in cheaply made finery that imitated greatness, had started out confident, an easy smirk on his face as the battle had started. The expression was quickly wiped however as he felt her power; her energy attacking his and bowing it quickly into submission. It was obvious that he’d never experienced such a thing before, always relying on brute force and fortification techniques rather than the finer, more subtle art of hidden traps and snares that choked out and cut the flow and connection of energy between a Bastion and their Warrior. The man quickly began to sweat, energy flailing and uncontrolled in the face of a superior opponent.

  
She could see the glisten of perspiration as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, calling for surrender frantically. She nodded in acceptance as another victory was added to her and Lexa’s ledger. As her Warrior walked from the field, she began to unweave and withdraw her energy as quickly as she could, trying to ease the shock the brunette would feel once their connection was cut. Clarke would feel the severance as well, the feeling like the phantom pain of a missing limb, but for Lexa it would be much worse. The blondes energy had been inside her, becoming one with her body, fortifying and changing it, and the removal of the collar always left her shaken and weak.

  
The second she felt the connection end, ignoring her own pain, she slipped off her cuff and flung herself behind the separating curtain. She ignored all who called her name, shrugging off hands and deflecting reporters questions. The media and their invasive questions could wait, Lexa was her priority. Jumped down the stairs that led to the hold, disregarding the shocked looks of arena employees as she rushed past.

  
It takes her no less than three minutes for her to reach the door, but for her that was three minutes too long. She burst through the door, paying no attention to the attendant that stood in the corner, her attention completely occupied by her Warrior. Lexa was pale and shivering, breaths coming in short gasps. The blonde brought up her hands to cup her partners face, channeling energy into them to lessen the effects of the sudden withdrawal. Both sighed in relief at the contact.

  
Other Bastion/Warrior pairs had called them reckless and stupid on more than one occasion. Entwining themselves so deeply with each other was dangerous, regardless of the power it brought them. It made them dependant on one another and unable to pair with another person, not that they’d choose too. It gave them strength where others would find weakness. Shifting to sit on the bench with her Warrior, she pulled Lexa close, stroking her back as her quivering subsided.

  
“Shall we go home?”

  
The brunette nodded, sighing happily at the gentle touches. They stood together, Clarke pulling her partner's arm over her shoulder and winding her own arm around a slim waist. The attendant nods to them, opening the door with a bow so they could leave.

  
“There are reporters upstairs. Do you think you would be able to deal with some of them, or should I get Titus to tell them to buzz off?”

  
Lexa let out an unladylike snort, wincing as her laugh irritated the ache in her chest.

  
“I think I’ll be okay. Should we go for condescending or critical? I think critical. The Warrior wasn’t that bad of a fighter, they just need to develop their bond.”

  
Clarke nodded, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully as they ascended the stairs. Lexa wobbled against her as they climbed, but grew stronger the longer they remained touching; their energies mingling in a more symbiotic way that the collar didn’t allow. By the time they reached the area with the reporters, the Warrior stood straighter, looking as though her strength was entirely restored. The reporters clamoured and pushed, held back by the security team that always followed the pair like a shadow. Their manager, Titus, stood waiting near the door, arms crossed and a sour look on his face as the crowd screamed their questions. The throng of people quieted slightly when they stopped in front of them, taking up a confident stance despite their exhaustion.

  
A few questions were pointless and sexist, asking about diets, hair care, and how they dressed, each was scoffed at and the reporter removed by a member of security. The sight brought an almost gleeful smile to Clarke’s face, as she was finally in the position that she could shut down the questions she’d hated answering since she was old enough to talk. Others were actually relevant to their jobs, the type of training they did, both separately and together, their opinions of that night’s opponents, what they planned in the future, etc.

  
They were questions they answered gladly until the blonde felt Lexa slumping more heavily against her. The brunette was exhausted, even though she hid it well behind teasing smiles and charm. Gripping her waist tighter, Clarke put an end to the inquiries.

  
“Alright, it’s late and I need to get this one to bed.”

  
She turned her face to gently peck Lexa’s cheek. The flash of a camera and the drawn out “aws” made her smirk. Even a slight show of affection between a Bastion and a Warrior was considered incredibly intimate by the general public, which always made it the perfect distraction when they needed a break in the questions to escape. Using this as his cue, Titus strode up behind them to grip their shoulders, leading them out into the cold night air and to the waiting car. Once shuffled inside, they fully relaxed, Lexa slumping against the blonde with a groan. Clarke kissed her face gently, pressing her lips to a sweaty brow, over her eyes, cheeks and nose, disregarding the blood that leaked sluggishly and dripped on her fine robe.

  
The ride to their home was short, as they resided in a gated community reserved solely for fighting pairs built near the arena. Titus accompanied them to their door, bidding them good night before returning to the car. They enter easily, a quick biometric scan of a thumb and the door opens without prompting, dragging their tired bodies across the threshold. Clarke supports her partner as she sags further, leading her to the living room and setting her on the couch.

  
“I’ll be right back. Just rest, alright?”

  
A tired nod is her answer as she grazes her fingers gently along a sharp cheekbone. Straightening, she strode down the hall. She had the forethought to prepare bandages and disinfectant before hand, but a bath wouldn’t run itself.

 

* * *

  
Lexa could feel her eyes drooping as her partner glided away, muscles screaming and wounds aching, drawing her ever closer to blissful unconsciousness. After such extended contact, she could still feel Clarke’s energy swirling in and around her, warming her skin and filling the emptiness the collar left. Her head bobbed as the sound of the bath running filled the house. Several minutes pass that felt like only moments before the blonde was back, lifting her to stand and walk to bathroom. Comprehension comes in flashes, the feeling of Clarke’s hands removing her armour, stepping into the bath, the pleasant burn of the water. She feels it all, yet as though she were an observer, acquiring knowledge of the sensations through second hand experience.

  
The bath water slowly turns a reddish-brown as her blood is stripped from her skin to swirl crimson in the depths of the tub. Nearing the end of the bath, she manages to come back to herself enough to ask after her partner's well-being.

  
“Are you okay?”

  
She croaks as soap is washed from her shoulders with cooled water. Clarke’s lips quirk up slightly, eyes soft as she answers.

  
“I’m alright. The fight wasn’t that draining for me because of his inexperience.”

  
The ‘he’ in question being the opposing Bastion. Lexa nodded, groaning slightly as the plug was pulled to drain the water. Sitting up, she accepted the aiding hand that her partner offered to pull her up. A towel is wrapped around her shivering frame, and another is used to dry her damp hair until it fluffed into a ridiculous mass atop her head.

  
Clarke giggled at her disheveled state, sending pleasant shivers of happiness down the other girls spine, as she clasped her hand, pulling her to the bedroom they shared. It takes only a moment to get dressed, shrugging off the towel and slipping into a soft t-shirt and cotton shorts. Her partner leaves for a few brief moments, leaving the brunette to curl up on the comfortable bed as she goes to shower the grime of battle off her own person.

  
When she returns, she is no longer in the trappings of a Bastion, instead, she’s dressed similarly to Lexa, an old shirt and sweatpants making her seem younger than her twenty-two years. The blonde crawls up to rest face to face next to her Warrior, touching their foreheads together with a sigh.

  
Lexa smiled as her eyes fluttered closed. This was what she fought for. These small moments where they weren’t Warrior or Bastion. The moments when they were bare, stripped of roles and responsibilities. The moments when she could smell the generic brand soap on their skin that stripped away the pain of battle, the detergent that made their clothes soft and comfortable, completely opposite of the stiff, irritating clothes they had to wear outside their home. She lived for these moments where she was aching and raw, laid out in the open only for the eyes of her love. She fought for these moments, the moments where she felt truly human and alive.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, have any questions about my fanfics, want to talk about writing, or want really inconsistent updates on my writing then come follow me on tumblr @GillyTweed


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